


Daddy Nights

by DuzMachines1984 (orphan_account)



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-14 16:20:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11786874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/DuzMachines1984
Summary: What happens after the screen fades to black?





	1. Craig

Savory, ginger-laced wind breezes under my nose, a dominant overtone to the subtly of honeysuckle and wild roses on the late summer wind. Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply, properly appreciating the expertly cooked steaks that Craig has forbidden me to touch. They were “resting”, he said, but I didn’t see why they couldn’t rest in my stomach.

As I watch him cook the potatoes, dousing them generously with olive oil and rosemary, amazement, almost pride, swells my chest. Here is my oldest friend, my roommate for years, the kid who ate nothing but burritos and microwave mac-n-cheese and beer cereal for 4 years of undergrad, creating a gourmet dinner on a dented, collapsible pan and a campfire. Times have changed and, for Craig, maybe for the better. I am sure his internal organs are grateful, at any rate.

Flickers of flame catch his chocolate brown eyes, illuminating all the anxiety swirling inside, like a neurotic galaxy of worry and stress. I frown, but the concern slides off my face as Craig hands me a plate of salad, potatoes, and steak.

The steak is juicy and tender as I cut into the ginger infused meat. It melts on my tongue and I shut my eyes in pleasure, savoring every last morsel of that food. Craig can cook now. The world is a place of wonders.

As I open my eyes, I see that Craig is only picking at his food, pushing the potatoes around on his plate like Amanda used to do with her broccoli. She always seemed to think she could trick me into thinking she’d eaten more if she creatively rearranged it and, I’m embarrassed to admit, sometimes it worked.

“Craig?” I ask, balancing my paper plate precariously on my knees to look at him.

“Everything taste okay?”

“I’m in heaven,” I respond honestly, running my tongue along the inside of my mouth to get all the sweet pockets of steaky goodness.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he says, but he’s not smiling.

“Remember how for an entire semester we ate nothing but burritos for breakfast, lunch, and dinner?” I say in a vain attempt to lighten the mood.

“It’s so hard not to go back to that,” he nods and I laugh, trying to imagine this new, hard-bodied Craig shoving fistfuls of burritos down his gullet. Somehow, I can’t make the image stick. I just see 20-year-old Craig, carefree, laughing, flirting with danger and indigestion.

But the Craig in front of me isn’t carefree or laughing. He looks … sad.

“Look at you now, man!” I nudge his shoulder, letting a grin stretch from ear-to-ear across my face. “You have kids, a great job, and you cook like a vengeful wizard whose arch nemesis is microwaveable food!” That gets a small smile.

“I’m really impressed with how much you’ve gotten your life together,” I say honestly, patting Craig’s shoulder with my non-food occupied hand.

He laughs humorlessly. “I’m glad you think that.”

I take the plunge and ask outright. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he answers. Liar.

“C’mon, dude,” I set my plate aside to really look at him. “I’ve known you long enough to know when you are down.”

“I’m tired, bro.”

“Well, yeah, we hiked all the way here and then the waterfall and-“

“No,” he interrupts. He gestures to his chest. “I’m tired here.”

Oh.

“Craig, you’re spread too thin. When was the last time you took care of yourself?”

“I go to the gym all the time.”

“No, dude. Not working out. I mean, relaxing. Taking it easy. Resting. Taking some time for YOU, not for the twins, not for River, not for the business or Smashley or the team. For Craig.”

“I can’t-“

“Yes, you can,” I interrupt. “Craig, you’re spread too thin. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You gotta take care of yourself if you won’t be ABLE to take care of anyone else. You’ll be too tired and stressed out and next thing you know you’re having an aneurysm on the floor and then you’re riding the fluffy white clouds to the big kegger in the sky!”

“I have to,” he says finally. “If that’s what it takes to raise my girls right, then it’s worth it.”

Geez. Brick wall. “Craig, buddy,” I begin gently, “I get it. Trust me, I do. But you can’t neglect your own needs because you’re too busy taking care of everyone else’s. You matter too, man.”

“It’s just … I know I can provide for my family. And if I take a step back and look at everything objectively, I know I’m doing right by them. But … I can’t explain it, man. There’s always that voice in the back of my head telling me that I need to do more. It’s like it’s never enough for me. Every time I try to relax, that voice keeps telling me I don’t deserve it. To be honest, I feel guilty about being out here.”

“You deserve a break, Craig. You deserve happiness.”

“Do I, though?” He asks softly, staring down as though suddenly the grass has become very interesting.

“Of course, you do,” I spit vehemently, wanting to take him by the shoulders and shake him. Craig is a wonderful dad, a successful business man, a coach, a sunshine ray of freakin’ positivity for EVERYONE around him. How could he think that he, of all people, didn’t deserve to be happy?

 “Craig … you’re ... you know,” I’m floundering, losing this, and Craig keeps staring at his toes. I sigh, letting my shoulders drop, and just drop some truth.

 “Man, I just wish … I just wish you could see yourself the way I see you.

Finally, he smiles, and I think maybe it’s going to be alright. We make smores for dessert and he burns his marshmallows like the uncultured swine he used to be in our college days. A couple of hours of reminiscing flies by, just Craig and I laughing and talking under the bright stars. When there’s more moon than star, we decide to call it a night.

Almost immediately, I realize with a sinking stomach that I’ve misplaced my sleeping bag. No big deal. It’s not too cold. The ground isn’t that hard. I have 2 kidneys, so it doesn’t matter too much if a rock is jamming into my side like a dagger.

“Bro,” Craig says, unzipping his bag. “C’mon.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Get in the bag. It’s fine. C’mon, we’ll share.”

I slide into the bag, finally giving in to Craig’s insistence, but I at least put my back to him, giving us some illusion of privacy.

Craig slings an arm around my middle, his breath warm on my neck. Is it warm in here? A little hard to breathe? It must just be me.

“You know,” he murmurs, soft lips touching the sensitive skin of my neck. “I’ve got strong feelings for you. I always have.”

“Yeah,” I choke out, voice hoarse. “I like you too. I – wait, what? Always have?”

Craig chuckles quietly and pulls me tighter when I try to bolt up and stare down at him. Despite my best dying fish flails, I can’t break his hold.

“Yeah,” he responds. “When we used to bunk together, sometimes ... sometimes I’d think about you when I beat it at night. You’d be across the room sleeping and I could smell your body wash and … I’d just do it.”

I can’t see him, but I know he’s blushing. I can hear it in his voice. “You never told me.”

He shrugs. “I didn’t tell anybody. I didn’t want anyone to know that I … liked guys.”

“But Smashley?”

“I like girls too,” he says, shrugging again. “But I guess I’m ready to admit, I like guys. And, specifically, I like you.”

“I like you too.”

When I flip over onto my side, facing Craig rather than away from him, he doesn’t stop me. For a moment, I stare, tracing the outline of his face in the wan light of the evening stars. Then I close my eyes and lean in. His lips meet mine, soft and plump, moving gently against my mouth until I’m melting into him, moaning softly, gripping his thick upper arm in one hand while he runs his thumb absently over my hipbone.

“Craig,” I whisper, my lips brushing against his with the word, “I want to do something for you.”

“What?” he whispers, bonking his forehead softly against mine and resting it there.

“Just relax.”

“I’ll try,” he promises, and that’s good enough for me.

Shimmying downwards, I nuzzle my face against Craig’s firm abs. My lips ghost over the waistband of his boxer briefs, pulling at them with my teeth so I can nuzzle the soft curls of hair covering his pubic mound. He grunts quietly, shifting his legs uneasily, and I plant a determined kiss right on his half-hard cock, right through the damp materials of his underwear, just to hear him gasp.

Peeling the underwear off, I toss it aside and cradle his hips, gripping them firmly with both hands and yanking him closer to my face.

“Dude, I … uh –“

I’m not listening. Opening my mouth, I take all of Craig’s growing length into my mouth. Damn. He’s big, even now, and the thick, heavy weight of his cock in my mouth is maddening. Bobbing my head, I suck him until he’s fully erect, the strained girth of his sex pushing against my tongue and lips. Eagerly, I trace the veins running up and down his shaft, tease them with my tongue while I squeeze Craig’s thighs.

“Oh, fuck…” he moans, the first time I’ve heard him swear since we’d reconnected. I can’t help but feel vindicated. It’s cliché, maybe, but I like it. I like holding Craig. I like hearing his stifled moans of pleasure when I suck his dick. And I know I’m going to like the thick, warm streams of cum he’ll shoot down my throat sooner rather than later. The very thought of it reddens my cheeks and I grind my hips into the sleeping bag, my own hard-on caught between my body and the bedding.

A couple of moments later, the tremble starts. First it’s his legs, a little twitch in his thighs as the orgasm starts to build. Then it’s his stomach, the hard, flat muscles quivering as I glide up and down over his length. Finally, he arches, head back, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut as he gasps, groans and grunts and screams so softly that I barely hear him, maybe the way he used to when he’d get off in the bed across the room, thinking of me.

When I sit up and wipe the cum from my lips, I’m smiling. Craig’s sweaty and flushed, eyes half-lidded and tired, but he beams a tired smile back up at me.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

For a second, he’s silent and the anxiety hits me, bumping the cockiness straight out of orbit and softening my dick a bit.

But then he’s reaching up, pulling me down with him into the sleeping bag, and kissing my sex-stained lips eagerly.

“I’m in heaven,” he whispers and I laugh, nuzzling his face and settling in for what I’m sure will be an unforgettable night.


	2. Craig part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Amanda's graduation party

I don’t see Craig for a while after Amanda leaves the party. Joseph stays, helping me shove paper plates into garbage bags and dump half-empty cups of soda into the grass. When I look over my shoulder towards the last, late-summer blooms of the cherry tree, Joseph smiles at me. I smile back awkwardly. I wish Craig were still here, but I’m kind of proud of him for skipping out of clean-up duty. Maybe he’s taking our self-care talks to heart.

“Well,” Joseph says, hands on hips after we’ve thrown the garbage into the bin and rolled it out to the curb. “Looks like that’s about it, buddy. Anything else I can help you with?”

“No,” I reply. I want to go upstairs and wallow in my newfound alone-ness. “Thanks for your help. And thanks for coming. I know Amanda appreciated it.”

“No problem, neighbor,” Joseph slaps my shoulder, smiling so I can see his canines. They are bright and sharp against his pale lips. “Just give me a call if you need anything.”

I wave goodbye as Joseph crosses the street, then let myself into the house. Finally, sanctuary. This is what I have to look forward to. Months and months of … flower petals on the floor?

Trailing from the sliding back door to the stairs is a path of intermingled white and pale pink blossoms. Where did these come from? I look side to side as I tromp to the back door, the beginning of the path.

“Manda,” I call out. “Is this one of your projects?”

There’s no answer. She’s either out, like she said she’d be, ignoring me, or wearing headphones. Heading back to the living room, I peek out of the curtain. The car is gone. Amanda isn’t home.

That leaves a mystery. Where did these flowers come from? And who was supposed to clean them up? Would flower petals clog the vacuum? Taking the stairs two at a time, the color drains from my face at the thought of picking up each single flower petal by hand.

God, I hope I can use the vacuum …

All thoughts of cleaning appliances evaporate from my brain when I open my bedroom door and find Craig lounging over the duvet, completely naked.

“Took you long enough,” he says, a smile touching his lips at my surely absurd look of shock.

“Had to take a break halfway up the stairs,” I joke, recovering. “I might need some more cardio.”

Craig laughs, sitting up and patting the bed next to him. “I can help with that.”

Oh geez. A flush creeps all the way up my neck into my face, but Craig graciously doesn’t say anything about it as I slide in next to him. Instead, he winds an arm around my waist and yanks me close. I slide across the blankets like I weigh nothing, pulled into his side and his smile. I think of our camping trip over the last weekend, remember the heft of Craig’s cock against my tongue, and I begin to smile too. It’s easy to feel comfortable with Craig.

At least until my clothes start coming off. Craig’s been naked from the get-go, but I am slower on that particular front. Pushing me down, Craig unbuttons my shirt and slides it open. That’s not too terrible, but when Craig starts tugging on my trousers, I seize up.

“Dude,” he says. “C’mon.”

Sighing, I relent and let him wiggle off my pants and underwear. I’m half-hard already just from seeing his glorious Adonis body and from his fingers tugging on my clothes, brushing against my skin. My cock lays against my soft, dark tangle of pubic hair. Craig runs his fingers through it absently, smiling down at me. I return the smile wanly.

“Hey,” he says, his hand trailing lower to stroke my thighs.

“Yeah?” I squeak, my vision nearly whiting out as all the blood rockets to my dick.

“Turn over for me.”

This isn’t my first rodeo. I know what he’s up to. “Craig,” I reply. “You don’t need to do that. You’re supposed to be taking more time for you, remember?”

He grins at me, brown eyes flashing mischievously in the dying sun that filters through the window.

“This is for me.”

Oh boy.

Hesitating only a second longer, I flip over and get up on my knees, leaning my upper body into the pillows. Thankfully, I’ve been thinking about this, wondering when it might happen, and my asshole is impeccable. Amanda’s been complaining about how long I spend in the shower every morning, but she doesn’t understand the importance of a thoroughly cleansed rectum. Or maybe she does.

… that’s not something I want to think about when Craig is touching my ass.

Placing a hand on each cheek, Craig leans towards me and drags his tongue up the length of my backside, circling back to trace the pucker of my entrance. My thighs twitch. I moan softly, hands balling in the sheets, face flopping into the pillow. Damn. He’s good at this. It must not be his first rodeo either.

His hands hip lower and I bite my lip. Are his eyes closed? Is he looking at me?

“Y-you don’t have to …” I repeat feebly.

He doesn’t respond, unless you count ignoring me and continuing to eat my ass responding.

I wonder what Smashley looks like naked. Maybe not great, especially after 3 kids. Who else has Craig been with? What did they look like? Did they look like me, or … ?

“Bro.” He’s sitting up now, back on his heels to look at me. “Is it that bad…?”

“What?”

“You’re tensing up like you’ve got a cramp.” He looks unsure, kind of upset, but not angry. Just … embarrassed and sad.

“No!” I shout, scrambling off my knees to face him. “Craig, it’s not that! You’re awesome. Amazing. It feels really good!”

He looks at me dubiously. “So what’s wrong?”

I bite my lip again and he rolls his eyes before laying his hand over mine.

“C’mon. Just tell me.”

“I was wondering what Smashley looks like naked,” I blurt out.

“What!?”

“Not her specifically,” I say, trying to dig myself out of the hole I’ve created. “Everyone. I mean, all the people you’ve …” Craig is staring at me and I feel like an idiot. I sigh, take a breath, and try again.

“I was just wondering if they look like … you. You know. Hot. Buff. Or … like me …”

Realization breaks over his face like a sunrise. To his credit, he doesn’t laugh. Instead, he closes his hand over mine.

“Dude, you are hot,” he assures, touching my knee with his other hand.

“Yeah, but not like you and-“

“I don’t want you to look like me,” he interrupts. “I want you to look like you. Okay?”

Oh geez. I’m blushing again. I can only nod, not trusting myself to speak.

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the tiniest crow’s feet, and plants a hand on either side of my hips. “Good.”

He’s bigger than me, in every sense of the word, and his body dwarves my own as he climbs over me, casting his shadow over me, smiling that sincere smile as he drops his head and kisses my neck, runs his hands up and down my sides, works my thighs open with his stronger, muscled ones. The warmth of his sex rubs against mine and I reach between our bodies, closing my hand around both of our cocks. Craig groans, head falling to my chest as I jack us off together with quick swipes of hand and shallow thrusts of hip.

“I’m gonna come,” he groans.

“That’s the idea,” I answer.

But he swats my hand away, instead dipping his fingers between my thighs to probe at my slick entrance. I gasp, unable to help myself. This is a pretty new rodeo ride for me. They have rides at rodeos, right?

“Relax,” he says. “Breathe.”

I try my best not to sound like I’m at lamaze class. It must be okay, because he doesn’t stop. Craig pushes one, then two slender digits inside of me with slow, deliberate patience. Practiced fingers. I wonder if he’s been hooking up with the other dads at softball games, leaving the thirsty divorcees with their bratty kids and dried up vaginas. Hitting on Craig when all the while he’s giving the d to some dude. If only they knew. And they will, because I’m not going back in the closet.

Craig withdraws his fingers and grips my hip with one hand. With the other, he holds his cock around the base, guiding it towards my ass.

“Ready?” He asks.

I nod. Oh boy, am I ready.

It feels bigger than I expected, but I moan anyway, head falling back into the pillows then lifting into Craig’s shoulder as I grip his biceps. He’s steady, holding himself and me as he slowly plunges his cock balls deep inside of me.

“Fuck,” I whisper.

“Quarter to the swear jar,” he replies huskily, nuzzling my ear.

“Bite me.”

Craig nips my ear, pulling the lobe and growling quietly as he begins to thrust gently, slowly, at first, but faster and harder once I’ve gotten used to the feeling of him inside me.  It feels pretty good, the depth of the thrusts hitting some delicious spot inside of me while the warm friction teases the sensitive, stretched skin of my entrance. It’s my turn to groan, to quiver, to whine that I’m going to come.

He doesn’t pull away or slow this time, just nods and fucks me harder. A thin sheen of sweat coats his tanned skin. He fucks me with his eyes closed and mouth open, brows knitted, unsteady, hitching breaths falling from his swollen lips.

God, he’s beautiful. It’s what I think when I finally come, stars exploding into my vision, pleasure short-circuiting my body until I am nothing but a pile of limp-noodle limbs. Craig comes just after, inside of me, with that same quiet outcry he gave in the tent last weekend. I smile tenderly, watching him as he orgasms, rides the wave, and starts to come back to himself. His eyes finally open and I am still smiling, reaching a hand up to brush against his cheek.

“You’re beautiful,” I whisper.

“So are you,” he answers.

I don’t know about that, but I’ll try my best to believe it, just like I want him to believe me when I tell him he deserves to be happy. And I hope that he is, or is learning to be so. One thing is for sure; I am.


End file.
